


Twenty-Four Hours in London

by JWMelmoth



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 14:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14594850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JWMelmoth/pseuds/JWMelmoth
Summary: With an unexpected layover in London, Kurt has 24 hours to kill, and spontaneously decided to attend a funeral. A prompt-fill. First published in Tumblr May 2018.





	Twenty-Four Hours in London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovejoybliss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovejoybliss/gifts).



“I'm terribly sorry, there's nothing we can do.”

Kurt nodded warily and hoisted his bag up on his shoulder. Any other time, an unexpected layover in London due to fog -with all expenses paid- would have excited him. Today, not so much. He had had a rough week. After surviving London fashion week plagued by jet lag and an overly excited trainee and with Isabelle on the phone nearly 24/7 making last minute changes. Kurt  _ had _ been hoping to enjoy an uninterrupted 12 hours of sleep -and maybe a complimentary drink- before returning to the mess that was his soon-to-be-bachelor apartment in New York.

Instead, he was stuck in London for at least 24 hours more, at six am on a Sunday morning, with a hotel room halfway across town that didn’t open for check-ins until 10. His trainee had been eager to ditch him for a model he had met the night before. That, at least, was a small mercy.

Not sure what else to do with his time, Kurt took a cab into the city centre, got himself a coffee and a newspaper, and sat down at the Thames. Maybe reading the gossip pages about the Royals would help him unwind.

Thirty minutes and six pages later, he had a goal. He took The Underground to Liverpool Street Station, went into a public restroom to change from his travel outfit back into the suit he'd been wearing most of the week, and got the train to Harlow.

-

“Mmm...fancy. Date?” Francis asked, peeking out from over his notes.

“Sort of,” Adam replied, combing a hand through his hair. He decided against his beanie for the day, and had put on his best shirt.

“Anyone I know?” Francis asked nosily.

“Um... _ I _ don't even know them, actually.”

“Ooh! A blind date, then! Wow. How adventurous. Quite unlike you, Mr Crawford.”

Adam pulled up the corner of his mouth. “Quite,” he agreed. “I'm off then. Feed Mr. Crinoline when he wakes up, will you?”

“Will do. Have fun!”

-

Kurt looked around. He wasn't sure what he had expected. A large crowd, maybe? It had been in the papers, after all. But at least he wasn't all alone. In the front row, a group of elderly people sat chatting quietly. Behind them, two ladies in clashing shades of pink, and a group of school children who looked like they might have been given a choice between detention or this.

He took a seat in the back, putting the bouquet of flowers down next to him, and read through the add again.

_ Staff at Fairview Care Home in Harlow, Essex, appeal for people to attend the funeral of Mary Stevens, a widow who died at 104 without any known family or friends. It is believed she outlived all her close relatives...[..] Mary was a keen ballroom dancer in her youth, loved dance and music... and devoted her life to caring for animals. _

The picture showed a cheerful old lady in Meryl Streep glasses next to a old black and white photograph of a young bride and groom. Something about her had touched Kurt, and he had decided to attend.

“Excuse me, may I?” someone asked, and Kurt looked up. A man with blonde hair and blue eyes looked at him apologetically. “It's just that I'm not overly keen on sitting with my old school teacher.” He nodded at the stern looking lady who was accompanying the kids.

“Oh! Of course, please,” Kurt said immediately, picking up the bouquet to make room.

“Thank you,” the man said pleasantly. He was carrying a single red rose that he was twirling between his fingers. He sat down next to Kurt.

“I'm Adam,” he said.

“Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

“Are you from the US?” Adam asked carefully.

Kurt blushed. He'd barely said hello. “That obvious, huh?”

“I'm sorry,” Adam offered. Kurt wasn't sure what he was apologising for, but he kind of liked it. It was a breath of fresh air after all the hysterics and egos of Fashion Week.

“Did you know Mary?” Kurt asked curiously. Adam might, if he went to school here. Suddenly he was a little afraid he might be sent away for being an imposter.

“Sadly, no. I just read the papers and thought...she seemed like a nice person to have known, you know? And she looked a bit like my nan. It's silly. I'm not even sure why- But here I am. And you?”

Kurt held up the papers. “Same.”

Adam gave him such a beaming smile Kurt's fears melted away.

Kurt wanted to say something else, but the service was starting, so they both turned to the front of the small chapel and paid attention to the sermon.

Kurt hadn't expected to feel as invested as he was. A long-time caretaker said a few words and thanked everyone for coming. It was clear that Mary had meant something to them, and seeing them be moved by the turnout was moving on its own accord. It could be argued Kurt had attended more than his fair share of funerals, and he was pretty sure his friends would find it morbid that he was voluntarily going to this one. And yet, he somehow felt he knew Mary, through the short bio and the caretaker's stories, and when they carried the coffin out, pausing briefly by the mourners so they could put their flowers on the lid, he found himself wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“May I?” Adam asked quietly, offering Kurt a folded cotton handkerchief.

Kurt blinked. He took it a little hesitantly and dabbed at his face, not really sure if he should give it back or not.

Adam seemed to have read his mind. “A souvenir,” he joked.

Kurt smiled. “Thanks.”

The other mourners were slowly leaving. Kurt saw Adam shrink to his side a little as his teacher passed him, but she didn't seem to recognise him.

“I'm sorry,” Adam said again, and Kurt wondered if British people had a quota of apologies to fill each day. “I was the worst student in the world. Quite possibly the universe.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” Kurt said immediately, just to see Adam smile again.

“Not the universe then,” Adam agreed, beaming at him. “Maybe just Essex.” He paused. “Where are you from, Kurt?”

Kurt shrugged. “Nowhere, Ohio. But I live in New York now.”

“Wow,” Adam let out, looking visibly impressed. “And you're here...?”

“For Fashion Week,” Kurt finished.

“Ah, of course. Yes. Sorry. Of course. You're a model, then?”

Kurt blinked again. “What? Oh, no! No, I'm just...I work for Vogue USA, I was here to be my boss' errand boy on site. She couldn't make it, so...”

Adam was looking at him like he wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't a model after all. Kurt blushed. It had been a long time since someone had openly given him such admiring looks. That he knew of, anyway.

“It ended yesterday, didn't it?” Adam asked.

Kurt blanched. For a split second, he thought about his Skype call with Blaine, and how he had almost thrown his laptop out of the window after it. How could he  _ know _ ? But then his brain caught up. Fashion Week ended yesterday, too.

“Yes. Yes...it did. I was supposed to fly home today but the fog – they won't be able to leave for another day at least.”

“Ah,” Adam replied thoughtfully, nodding.

“So, you follow Fashion Week at all?” Kurt asked, mostly to distract himself from any re-emerging thoughts of his ex.

Adam looked down on his shoes and ruffled his hair. “Sorry, no. Actually...I only know because my roommate Francis is a bit of a fashionista...fashionisto...I'm not sure. Fashion-person? He talks about it a lot. Drives me and Mr. Crinoline crazy.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Mr....who?”

“My cat,” Adam explained. “He looks...” He mimed a pear shape around his hips. “...a little like he's wearing a hoop skirt. It made sense when me and Francis were drunk on cider and they didn't know his real name at the shelter so I figured why not. I hope he isn't offended, I mean, I don't think he minds a bit of cross-dressing fun, I'd say cats are fairly open-minded and...I am...babbling and am going to shut up now,” Adam finished, and blushed.

Kurt just stared at him for a moment, not sure what to say.

“I ruined all of my chances now, haven't I?” Adam mumbled, the light in his eyes a little dimmed.

Kurt held his breath for a moment. Clearly his accent wasn't the only obvious thing about him. Twenty-four hours in London...He looked at his watch. Eighteen left.

“No, you haven't,” he replied finally, offering Adam a small smile.

 


End file.
